Blessed
by Chapin CSI
Summary: GSR. Grissom ponders fatherhood. A prequel to Hope and Hopeful.


Blessed  
A prequel to "Hope" and "Hopeful".  
I started writing this story a while ago but it didn't seem to be going anywhere. Then on Monday I heard a song by Elton John, and suddenly, I knew where the story should go... 

Blessed was written by Elton John and Bernie Taupin

* * *

Sara looked around, and then at Gil.

"Where did all these people come from?" she asked. They'd just entered their favorite restaurant and there was not an empty table in sight.

"Well, it's Sunday, after all," Gil said reasonably. They'd never come on a Sunday and they'd certainly never come in the middle of the day. They'd often dined there, shortly before going to the lab, and it was a more quiet place then.

"I'll find us a table," Sara said, determinedly making her way in.

Grissom went to the counter and ordered their food. It was his turn to buy the main course and he chose accordingly, but he eyed the dessert menu all the same. He liked their pineapple turnovers and was a bit disappointed when he saw they'd crossed out the item from the menu.

While he waited for the food, he glanced around in search of Sara. He smiled when he saw her settled in a corner of the restaurant. She lifted her hand in triumph and he nodded back.

She seemed to have recovered her spirits. They'd spent the morning at a nearby park, reading, mostly, and Sara had fallen asleep shortly after opening her book. But when he teased her about it, she'd denied it vehemently, insisting that she'd been merely giving her eyes a rest.

Gil pretended to believe her, but he knew better.

He knew why she was tired and he knew why she was so flustered at being found out: She was pregnant, (and thus bound to be sleepy and tired), but Gil was not supposed to know, and so, very naturally, she'd set out to deny anything that might call attention to her condition.

She hadn't told him, yet he'd inevitably found out. Given his penchant for observation, it was only a matter of time before he put together the little pieces of evidence she couldn't hide from him.

Her being tired was just another piece of the puzzle. She'd also stopped lighting vanilla-scented candles when she did her yoga, and she'd been avoiding certain foods too. Some scents seemed to be making her queasy, but curiously enough, the scents from crime scenes hadn't affected her at all.

Grissom had acquired this information and more, yet he didn't know what to do with it. That she had options didn't escape him. She could terminate her pregnancy at any time, and never tell him anything.

From the very start, he'd vowed not to intervene unless she wanted him to - she'd honored his privacy for so long that he couldn't help but repay her in kind- but he couldn't help wondering if her decision not have the child would make him sad.

He'd never seriously considered fatherhood, and as far as he knew, Sara hadn't considered motherhood either; the few times they'd discussed children had been within the context of crime, and neither one of them had seemed especially optimistic. So, he didn't know how to feel about it.

Sometimes he felt that it was the fact that she wouldn't trust him with any of this that saddened him the most. He wanted to be there for her, no matter what. He trusted her judgment; he firmly believed that whatever she decided, it would be for the best.

Simply put, he_ loved_ her.

But love wasn't enough, sometimes.  
-----  
Sara smiled when she saw him bring their food. He'd got her a wedge of vegetable pie.

"Warmed-up," he said, "With the sauce on the side, and extra lemon wedges."

"Thanks, Griss," she said. She glanced at the bowl of soup he'd got for himself, and she faltered a little. She gulped and glanced way.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Uh, huh," she shook her head. She forced a smile, "Nothing. I was just thinking. You don't have to eat soup every time we have lunch together, you know. You could order something else. Even meat."

"I like pea soup," Grissom said good-naturedly. "You got me addicted to it," he added. But he quickly realized what the problem was; Sara had developed a dislike for pea soup.

Discreetly, Grissom set the basket of bread between them, so she didn't have to look at the soup at least. But he didn't leave the matter alone.

"Are you ok?" he asked, "You're a little pale."

"Am I?" she asked casually. "Well. I didn't put on any make-up today."

He smiled at the comment. He liked her without make-up. But then, he liked her in any way she chose to appear to him.  
She looked up from her plate and realized he was still looking at her.

"What?" she asked good-naturedly.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm just enjoying the view."

She smiled and reached for his hand. She squeezed it for a second, then let go.

"You look very young," Grissom added. "I feel like I'm robbing the cradle."

"Robbing the cradle," she repeated with some amusement. "I wish. I'm thirty-five, you know."

"And I'm -" he started, then paused for a second. " -not thirty-five," he finished in mock self-deprecation.

She smiled again.

They ate leisurely, enjoying their lunch. They liked this restaurant; the food was great and even the background music was agreeable for both of them.

They didn't talk much. Sometimes, one would glance speculatively at the other, then glance away. Grissom had the impression that she wanted to say something, but whenever his gaze met hers, she faltered and looked down.

Once or twice, he'd caught her looking, not at him, but at the open window behind him. The wistful look in her eyes made him want to turn and look, but he refrained and waited till she rose to get their dessert. When he turned, he saw a small garden and, farther away, a playground area filled with laughing kids.

More evidence?

The wistfulness in her eyes made more sense now.

Grissom wondered what had moved her the most. Was it the children playing alone, or the ones playing with their parents? Or was it the single moms, keeping a stern eye on their offspring? This last thought made him pause. What if Sara decided to have the child but only if she raised it on her own? After all, she didn't hold much faith in marriage; more than once she'd said that if her parents had divorced, they would have been spared a lot of pain.

Grissom was thinking of this, when a new song started in the background. He smiled when he heard the first verses:

Hey you, you're a child in my head**  
**You haven't walked yet**  
**Your first words have yet to be said**  
**But I swear you'll be blessed**  
**I know you're still just a dream**  
**your eyes might be green**  
**Or the bluest that I've ever seen

"Or brown," Grissom whispered, thinking of Sara's eyes.

I need you before I'm too old**  
**To have and to hold**  
**To walk with you and watch you grow**  
**And know that you're blessed 

Grissom faltered. Pain suddenly gripped his heart; a deep pain, the kind he'd felt once, when he heard that Sara was dating another man. He'd forced himself not to dwell on this pain back then, and he'd probably manage to get over it this time, too... But he knew only too well that the hurt would remain. And the emptiness...

And you, you'll be blessed**  
**You'll have the best**  
**I promise you that**  
**I'll pick a star from the sky**  
**Pull your name from a hat**  
**

It was then that Grissom finally knew how he felt about Sara's pregnancy. He wanted this child. He wanted to take care of him –or her. He wanted to take care of them both, mother and child.

Sara's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey," she said as she came back to their table.

Grissom turned back and forced himself to act naturally. He saw Sara set a dish covered with a napkin in front of him.

"Guess what I got you," she said mysteriously, but before he could even think of an answer, she removed the napkin with a flourish. "A pineapple turnover."

He looked at the pastry and then at her.

"I didn't see any on the counter," he frowned.

"I called in advance today," she said, very pleased with herself, "I asked them to keep one for you. Enjoy," she added, then turned her attention to her own dessert.

"Thanks, honey," he said. He didn't pick his fork, though. Instead he kept his gaze on Sara, studying her as she speared a cherry from her fruit salad. "Sara?" he said. He reached for her free hand and lifted it to his lips. "You're very sweet."

She was momentarily speechless.

"Wow," she said at last. She looked at him as if for the first time that day. She was moved, but instead of giving in to this feeling, she opted for smiling mischievously. "If a pineapple turnover does this to you, I wonder what a whole pie will."

"I will be your slave forever," he said just as humorously.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, but Grissom kept glancing over his shoulder now and then. Now that he was aware of the children playing outside, he couldn't help noticing their laughter and their voices calling out.

"Do you want to change seats?"

"What's that?" he asked, turning to her.

"It's noisy out there," Sara said apologetically. "I can get us another table, if you want."

"I don't want to change seats," he said simply. "I like hearing children laugh."

And by the way she smiled, he knew it was the right thing to say.

* * *

THE END 


End file.
